


The Dance of a Lifetime

by illyn_fairecroft



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Ball, Dancing, F/M, Party, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 05:32:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8433661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyn_fairecroft/pseuds/illyn_fairecroft
Summary: I wrote this at literally 1am so it's dumb, kinda bad and pretty OOC for Ulfric's persona. But here it is.Consider this a bit of filler for my main fic, Chasing the Storm, while the new chapters are still a wip.
Ulfric Stormcloak threw a party & feast to celebrate the battles already won before the Rebellion takes on Solitude. A particular women, a stranger to him, catches his attention.





	

The candles flickered as soft as whispers, filling the grand hall with a warm, intimate light. The Windhelm banners hung from the ceiling as they always had, but bunting in matching colours joined them for this special occasion. Noblemen, noblewomen, lords, ladies, officers and knights all littered the floor. They were chattering and laughing; drinking and dancing to their hearts content. The smell of a spit roast oxen filled the room. The musicians played jovial, bouncy tunes; much to the delight of guests and hosts alike. 

Ulfric was not one to throw parties. His advisers had convinced him to do so. The battle for Solitude was approaching, and none could be sure if they would get the chance to celebrate conflicts already won. 

The whole affair was just another stress for the Jarl in these troubled times, but as he sat atop his throne, drinking quality mead and watching his guests in merriment - not even  _ he _ could suppress a tipsy grin.

He was dressed in fine silks and cottons, all blue in colour. An embellished coat fit for the occasion draped over his frame, falling down to his calves. Plain navy breeches, chosen to compliment, were tucked into a pair of black boots. His white shirt had an open collar to advertise his Talos amulet, among other expensive necklaces.   
  


The musicians started a new tune, a livelier one, that brought his attention back to the dancefloor. Strangely, many of the couples and groups had moved to stand clear, although he put it down to the unfamiliar song and the arrival of fresh pastries. Yet a wave of murmurs made him think differently. Ulfric stood up to look over the guests.

A woman moved onto the dancefloor. Alone. Such a thing was unheard of for a single young woman, to step onto the floor without an invite. The crowd muttered amongst themselves, exchanging judgemental looks and some even pointing and laughing. The girl carried on.

She  _ looked _ like a nord, but was no taller than a horse's back. Maybe 16 hands? And rather young. Her fair hair was fastened in the tower style - a set of braids woven into a crown on top of the head. She wore a green and dark brown ballgown, delicately embroidered and cinched with a golden belt. The way she moved exaggerated the mass of fabric, swimming around her ankles like elegant koi. The nord walked in time to the beat and extended a hand, palm down, to the Jarl. That was an unmistakable invitation to dance.

Ulfric laughed, amazed at her brazen actions.

“What should I call you, m’lady?” He slurred across to her, taking heavy steps down from his great throne, wobbling from the drink. The people of the room were near silent now, all but thankful for the music.

The girl said nothing but left her invitation open. He scoffed again, but extended his own hand in return.

“Play me my favourite!” He commanded the lutists, whom readily began.

She placed her slight hand over his large one, both flat with palms down. A lady’s other hand was held high in the air, while a man's was tucked behind the small of his back. A curtsy was performed, lifting her skirt just a bit higher than usual. He raised his eyebrows but bowed nonetheless.

“What  _ is _ your name, m’lady. I can't dance with a nameless girl.” He said in hushed tones, sobering up.

“Call me Eilidh, my Jarl. It is an honour to perform with you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

They set off, Ulfric leading, taking rhythmic paces and mirroring each other's movements. Where one foot stepped, the opposite did the same, moving in circles around the dancefloor. At bridges in the music, their hands would break. They would clap, spin and move around each other. Eilidh danced like flowing water. Ulfric stomped like a bear fresh out of hibernation. He hardly considered himself a dancer, but any man could perform a basic set of moves such as this.

As the music came to an end, the crowd erupted with loud applause for their Jarl.

 

“Thank you for the dance.” She said with a small smile. It hit him now, in a less hazy mind, that he had never seen her face before. He expected a few strangers at an event of this size, but strangers always arrived with invited guests, not seemingly alone. 

He bowed again and placed a quick peck on the back of her hand, but held a firm grip on it. 

“Who are you attending with, Lady Eilidh?”

“No-one, Sir, and I’m no Lady”

His hand clamped down on hers with enough force to make her fingers turn cold. With a furrowed brow he flashed a look to one of his guards.

“Who are you?  How were you allowed in?”

“It matters not.” She snatched her hand back, looking into his worried drunken eyes as she rubbed the red marks in her palm. With that, she turned and disappeared into the crowds. The Jarl of Windhelm was left dumbfounded and alone in front of all of his guests. Not for long, though, as a giggling group of young women approached and asked to dance with him, commending him for his performance. Naturally, he obliged. 

 

For the rest of the night, whether dancing or talking on his throne, Ulfric Stormcloak could not stop memories of that woman from filling his thoughts. He caught glimpses of her throughout the night. A flash of blond; a brief streak of velvety fabric; even a set of blue eyes glancing at him from across the room.

The sun was beginning to rise and the partygoers left one by one. As the number of guests rapidly decreased, he realised that she was just  _ not _ leaving. By the time the sun was bright in the sky, it was just him, her and a few guards. 

“You're going to have to leave, girl… The night's events have come to an end.” He spoke with a thoughtful note in his voice. The man was vaguely curious about her and her intentions, but he had to remain professional for sake of his reputation. That, and a banging headache meant his bedchamber was calling to him.

“Jarl Ulfric.” She started, drifting off. Eilidh walked towards where he stood beside his throne. His dark bags were visible in the morning light and he swayed slightly from the sheer amount of mead in his system. She took him by the arm and lead him out into the small cobble courtyard in front of the palace. It was a cold and foggy morning, but the fresh air was welcomed after hours in a stagnant, packed room.

The woman turned to face him. She dug a letter and a small linen-wrapped object from her pockets. Placing it into his warm hands, she looked up to make eye contact.

“Thank you for the wonderful night, Jarl Ulfric. Especially for the dance. I will remember this for the rest of my days, so please accept this as a token of my gratitude.”

Confused, he looked from her lingering hands to her eyes and back again - but accepted regardless.

“I… Thank you. For the gift, that is, L-... Eilidh.” He was too tired and too drunk for this.

She beamed a smile that stretched from ear to ear and let go of the gift. Hesitating for just a moment, the small nord stretched to place a kiss on his cheek and hurriedly jogged away from the yard.

Ulfric blinked rapidly, trying to process what just happened.

He returned into the palace and staggered his way to his chambers, careful not to drop the wrapped object. Once steady and sat down, he carefully pulled open the linens to reveal just a simple silver necklace. A thin chain and a small pendant. It had some basic knotwork embellishing one side, but that was it. Ulfric ripped open the letter and it read:

“Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak,

 

Ever since I was young, I have greatly admired you. Often in the way that a common stable girl shouldn't. 

When I heard of this event from Riften I knew I had to attend, to meet you in person. For almost a year I have been saving my septims to visit Windhelm, so the timing of this party is impeccable. I sold many things to afford my dress (although I have no regrets, as it  _ is  _ wonderful) and hope to use the gold I saved for the carriage ride. It shall all be worth it.

I hope the pedant is appreciated, Jarl Ulfric. I'm aware it is not the most spectacular, but please keep it as a gesture of my gratitude and admiration. Perhaps it might bring you luck in the battle for Solitude? You and the Stormcloaks are always in my prayers.

 

Many kind regards,

Eilidh Marshall.”

 

He smirked at the letter. Content with the explanation, he placed everything to one side and laid down in bed (still fully clothed). He muttered to himself,

  
“Gods give me strength, am I going to maim that bouncer.”

**Author's Note:**

> idk why this turned out like some 18th century georgian ball where everyone has this weird upper-class judgmental personality and has to be really civil??? LMAO
> 
> in the 1am original, I actually called Eilidh a "harlot" when she walked to the dancefloor alone omg. I changed it because this is skyrim & a bunch of nords getting drunk.... pretty far from georgian balls ngl.


End file.
